Mile 229 Hear it read- https://soundcloud.com/stories-fables-ghostly-tales/episode-357-sfgt-mile-229-mysterious-numbers
Some people have a lucky number, or an unlucky number… I have a responsibility number. Maybe I should call it a duty number, or just an assigned number. Does that make sense? Probably not. I’ll start from the beginning. The first incident I can remember happened when I was 9 years old. It was summer vacation and I’d been dragged along on a grocery shopping trip with my mom. We paid and were on our way out the door when my mom patted her jeans pockets and muttered a word she’d told me never to use. I giggled and she shot me her best “not now” glare. She pulled the shopping cart up next to a huge stack of of 12 packs of soda by the door with a big sign advertising “This week only- $2.29!” “I think I left my keys at the checkout counter” she sighed, then turning to me, “Stay RIGHT HERE with the cart, Lauren!” “Fine!” I groaned, and rolled my eyes. I was a good kid though, she knew I’d do as she said. “Be right back” I shuffled my feet impatiently and glanced around the store. A man was walking quickly toward the door with a little boy in tow. The boy couldn’t have been more than 5 years old and he was sobbing despite the man’s pleas to stop. I remember thinking how weird it was that the man was wearing a coat and knit hat in July. As they neared me I made eye contact with the little boy and without really thinking what I was doing I asked “are you ok?” “He’s FINE” the man growled and tugged at the boy’s arm. The little boy was still looking at me though, his light brown eyes brimming with tears. “I just want my mommy” he hiccuped. I had no idea what to do. The man glared at me and gave one last tug at the boy’s arm right as my mother rounded the corner, keys in hand. His eyes darted from me, to my mother, to the boy, back to me, then with a look of panic he dropped the boy’s arm and ran out the door. My mother stood a few feet from us, dumbfounded. “Are you ok?”, I asked the boy for a second time. He just fell wordlessly into my arms. I was probably almost a foot taller than him, but the force of his head hitting my chest was enough to knock me into the wall of soda. I just stood there while my mom screamed for an employee. I could feel his tears soaking into my T-shirt. The little boy’s name was Bobby Hingham. It turns out the man was a disgruntled ex-boyfriend of the boy’s mother and he’d followed them to the store and grabbed Bobby while his mother’s back was turned. Police were called and the next day my picture appeared in the local paper with the headline “Young hero stops kidnapping”. In the picture Bobby is standing to my left, his mother on her knees clutching her son, and to my right half a sign is visible- “ek only- $2.29!”. I think I still have the newspaper clipping somewhere. The next few incidents weren’t nearly as dramatic. I was watching the microwave count down and when it hit 2 minutes 29 seconds a tiny flame popped up where a stray piece of tin foil had clung to the plate. If I weren’t staring at the microwave at that exact second I don’t know what would have happened. Maybe the oven would be ruined, maybe nothing. There are hundreds of other examples that I’m not going to bore you with (and probably couldn’t even remember anyway), some as stupid as looking up from the book I was reading when I hit page 229 and finally being able to swat that mosquito that had been bugging me all afternoon. Inconsequential or not, that many incidents got my attention. On my 21st birthday the first thing I did was take a bus to the local casino. I’d never gambled before, but I’d watched enough movies to know exactly what I wanted to do. I made a beeline for the roulette table, the $100 bill my parents had given me at my party earlier clenched in my hand. It was a weekday and the table was empty. The dealer watched me approach, his hands clasped behind his back. I slid my money across the table and instructed him ”half on 2, half on 29”. I tried to sound calm and confident but I had butterflies in my stomach and I heard my voice shake a little. The dealer either didn’t notice or didn’t care (he didn’t even card me which upset me a little… how long ago could I have walked in here and done this?), he just reached for a stack of light blue chips, put them on my numbers, and set the wheel spinning. “Fifteen black” he called out flatly, scooping up all my chips and putting them neatly back where they’d sat only a moment earlier. I just stared in disbelief. After all the crap I’d been through I guess my number didn’t work that way. Just like that my rosey glasses were off. I’d never really sat down and thought about what had happened to me before. I went to the bar in the center of the casino, ordered my first (legal) drink, and for the first time I really really thought about my life. At age 9 I very well may have saved a boy’s life. I got my name in a local paper, then what I did was basically forgotten. At age 11 I stopped by locker #229 on my way to class and was there at just the right moment to catch a classmate as she fainted. I wouldn’t say I saved a life that day, but I probably stopped her from suffering a major concussion hitting her head on the concrete floor. The girl was taken to the hospital where she found out she was diabetic. I was yelled at for being late for class. At age 19 I was walking home and saw a car broken down on the side of the road (GRL229, I couldn’t even tell if it was a vanity plate or just a coincidence that the car was driven by a teenage girl). By the time I finished helping the 16 year old change her tire and get safely back on the road it was dark out. I was rewarded by having to threaten a drunken frat boy with pepper spray to keep him from following me back to my dorm. I’d saved lives and that was great, but what did I have to show for it? I had a shoebox with an old newspaper article in it, and I had enough money in my pocket to take a bus home from the casino. That’s it. I downed the remainder of my rum and coke with a wince. I guess until that day I’d always secretly considered myself to be gifted, but I wasn’t gifted, I was a pawn. When I’d graduated high school I’d enrolled myself part time in art school, partially supporting myself with a retail job, but mostly relying on loans. I was a pretty good painter, and part of me just KNEW I’d be rich and famous soon (I was gifted after all). Staring out the bus window on my way home from the casino I realized how stupid I’d been. I finished the semester then left art school and set out to become a nurse. I figured if my lot in life was to save people I might as well put myself in a good place to do it. I can’t say my life was bad. Nursing paid the bills well enough, and it was fulfilling. I got mentioned in a few more newspapers for saving lives, and I even got a story on Channel 5 News after I saved the town mayor from being given a deadly dose of medication he was allergic to. “I have to ask, how did you know to double check his charts, Nurse Jones?” the perky reporter had asked me. “I was just doing my job” I replied. I wasn’t lying. The incident happened on February 29th 2012 and the mayor had been brought in straight from some leap year celebration, the date clearly printed on his hat and colorful t-shirt… so, clearly I had a job to do, it was just a matter of figuring out what (and double checking his pills was a lot easier than most of what I went through as a nurse). I didn’t usually travel much, but for my 30th birthday I took the weekend off to go see my old roommate who had recently bought a house in Colorado. It was a 7 hour drive, but the weather was perfect and my little Honda Civic made it there with no issues. Julie’s house was lovely (It still seemed weird to me that she could afford a 3 bedroom house when I could remember weeks we both survived on Ramen noodles. Time flies.) Julie’s husband, John, was very nice, but I’m sure we bored him horribly just reminiscing all day Saturday. On Sunday for my actual birthday we ordered about 20 pounds of Chinese food and watched a bad romantic comedy. It was really nice to feel free of responsibility for once. I could have stayed at Julie’s house for weeks, but I had a nursing shift Monday afternoon and I figured it was best to beat the traffic, so at around 9pm I got ready to leave. Julie fussed over me and suggested for the 10th time I just spend the night and call off work tomorrow, but I knew I couldn’t do that. I’d explained my situation to Julie before, but she didn’t understand, and how could I blame her? I didn’t really understand. As I packed up my overnight bag Julie suddenly rushed out of the room then came back with a large box wrapped in silver paper. “I almost forgot!” she admitted and thrust the gift toward me with a grin. The box contained a large bottle of Captain Morgan’s rum. We shared a laugh; she knew perfectly well that I’d hated rum ever since my 21st birthday. Underneath the bottle she’d tucked my real gift- a beautiful cashmere throw blanket she’d had embroidered with my initials. “It’s perfect” I told her, and hugged her tight. Leaving wasn’t easy, but after an awkward goodbye from John and a few more hugs from Julie I was on my way. I watched Julie’s town disappear in the rear-view mirror, then stopped for gas after a sign warned me the next rest stop wasn’t for 47 miles. After getting back on the highway I realized I was totally and completely alone. No buildings in sight and no other cars, not even a trucker working to get his delivery to its destination by Monday morning. I didn’t mind too much. The night was beautiful; it was a perfect 75 degrees and there wasn’t a cloud in the star-filled sky. I tried the radio and realized I was too far into the empty Colorado mountains for any reception, not surprising. I sighed, took a long drink of the Diet Coke I’d picked up at the gas station, and settled in for a long drive. I’d been driving for about 2 hours (not even a third of the way home, I thought) when without warning a loud bang came from my car’s engine. All the warning lights lit up at once, then they all went off and the car sputtered to halt in the breakdown lane. My heart was beating a mile a minute, but I still remember noting that I was lucky there was a breakdown lane here. Some parts of the Colorado mountains only have a thin guard rail beside the road. I breathed deeply for a moment and closed my eyes. “You’re ok” I thought, and willed my hand to stop shaking as I reached for the ignition. Nothing. The lights would come on, but there wasn’t a peep from the engine. I waited a minute and tried again… that’s when I saw it; the headlights perfectly framed a highway mile marker- mile 229. "Shit!", I screamed as I instinctively reached for my phone. I realized before I even hit the button that there’s no way I had reception out here. Without cell service it was just a very expensive clock. I glanced at it anyway. It was 11:35, technically still my birthday. I felt a laugh rising in the back of my throat and I threw back my head and let it out in a cackle. “REALLY??” I screamed toward the sky, “on my BIRTHDAY?” I got out of the car and stared at the green mile marker, then I started screaming at it (although logically I knew it was as much the sign’s fault I’d broken down as it was the locker’s fault that girl had passed out almost 20 years ago). “What do you even want from me?” I wailed, then, collecting myself, I asked a little quieter, “What the hell could you possibly want me to do out here?” I’d been a very responsible person my whole life, and I don’t know what compelled me to do what I did next, but I suddenly remembered the box in the trunk of my car. I hurled open the hatch, grabbed the bottle of rum, and chugged as much as I could in one gulp. Wincing and sputtering I leaned down, hands on my knees, and waited for the warm feeling to blossom in my stomach and spread through my body. With the warmth came memories, and I began to cry. The taste of the rum brought me back to when I was 21 and first figured out I was nothing but a tool. I’d felt used back then, and now I’d had 9 more very busy years of being someone (or something)’s slave. I remembered the girl (GRL229) I’d found broken down on the side of the road as I walked back to my dorm. “I was there for her” I sobbed, my voice almost a whisper now, “but no one is coming for me, are they?” I took another drink from the bottle and this time it went down easier. I grabbed the throw blanket and laid it out on the sand a few steps from my car. The night was warm enough and I had every intention of just passing out right there, no one could make me do anything. Tears still streaming down my face I plopped down onto the blanket. I’d never felt so stupidly hopeless in my life. I looked at my phone, 12:01. “At least it’s not my birthday anymore, right?” I said. I didn’t have any idea who I was talking to anymore. I let the phone slide from my hand where it landed with an odd “clink” of definitely-not-sand. I fumbled around in the dark and my hand hit something hard and metallic. I grabbed it and turned toward the light coming from my car, even in drunken double vision I could see exactly what it was. A gun. Suddenly I wasn’t sad anymore, I was furious. “WHAT DO YOU WANT?” I screamed again at the sky. I fumbled and found the trigger with my right index finger, “Am I supposed to go hunting? Go back and time and kill Hitler? How about I just blow my own head off?” I laughed maniacally, “and what are you going to do about it?”. I pointed the gun at the sky, threatening my unseen tormentor, then I turned toward the mountains and hurled the gun into the night. “Whatever you want” I hissed, “I’m not doing it.” Back on the cashmere blanket I sat fuming. I wasn’t going to be anyone’s pawn ever again. I didn’t know what else to do though, I realized with dismay and another surge of fury that I’d never known anything else. I was probably serving someone else when I was a baby, I just didn’t remember. My head spun. I couldn’t think what to do next. There was no right answer. “No right answer means no wrong answer either” I muttered with very flawed drunken logic. I grabbed my bottle and followed the headlights toward the goddamn 229 sign. On my way I picked up a large rock and threw it from about 5 feet away. The sign came off easier than I’d expected and clattered to the pavement. I kept walking. Out of range of my headlights the stars gave just enough light for me to see the road ahead. The darkness was nice, it was comforting. I took one last swig of rum (not that I needed it), then threw the bottle into the dark where it shattered against something unseen. I kept walking. I have no idea how far I walked. Eventually I came to a guardrail that stood about waist-high on me. I looked over. Nothing. Well, obviously not nothing, but all I could see was blackness. “Perfect” I thought. I steadied myself against a roadwork sign (order of dept. 229…), “I get it!” I screamed,”but I’m not going back!” I climbed onto the guardrail and stood looking toward the highway. I turned my head back toward the sky, but this time my voice was calm, “I bet you didn’t expect this.” I let go of the signpost and threw my arms over my head, diving toward the darkness. The last thing I remember is closing my eyes and bracing myself for an impact. There was none. I awoke in some kind of reclining chair. My first thought was that I somehow survived and I was in the hospital, but even if it were possible to survive a drop like that, shouldn’t I be broken all over? I slowly wiggled the fingers on my right hand. No pain. Same with my left hand. I tried to open my eyes but they wouldn’t focus and the light felt too bright. “Hey! Tootoon! You awake?”, a cheery female voice called out. “I… what?”, was all could manage for a second. I struggled to process what she said. “What did you call me?” I asked, my voice sounding weird in my head. “Twoon?” She laughed. Her voice was somehow familiar but I couldn’t place it. “No sweetie, TWO-TWO-NINE. You do this every time.” “I’m… I’m Lauren.” “Yes you were...” she corrected with an exaggerated sigh. “and you did a great job!”. She finished her sentence in a tone usually reserved for praising 5 year olds. I felt a twinge of annoyance and opened my mouth to object, but I didn’t even know what to say. Instead I tried my eyes again and this time they focused. The woman was looking down at me with a grin and a twinkle of good humor in her dark eyes. My annoyance immediately disappeared and I grinned back at her. “Ok…” she said humming good naturedly and looking a some kind of computer screen she held in her left hand. “You... you got President Hingham” she muttered more to herself than to me, you got…uh-huh, she’s ok... he’s there… yeah alright!”. She brighted back up. “Nice job!”. This time there was no condescension in her voice. “Well, I’ll let you rest and clear your head” she said with a little squeeze of my shoulder. “Take as long as you need. I’ll be with the others. Welcome home!” she walked briskly out the door. All my feelings of sadness and fury were completely gone, I sighed in relief and was about to shut my eyes when she called back “Oh, 229?” “Yeah?”, I turned just enough to see her glittering eyes poke back around the corner of the snow-white wall. “That was a pretty impressive swan dive, but next time if we give you a gun just use it. Ok?”. She winked, and disappeared down the hall.
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Do you believe in love at first sight? I do. I don’t just believe, I KNOW it exists. I knew the second I saw Grace.
I’ve been working as a night security guard at an office park downtown for about 3 years now. Normally it’s boring as hell, but last Saturday I was doing my 4am walk around the perimeter of the building when I noticed a figure sitting alone on a bench tucked in an alcove behind Wallburg Paper Company. No one from that company ever works on weekends, much less at 4am, so I moved closer to make sure everything was ok. I rounded the corner and that's when I first laid eyes on Grace. Her soft pale skin seemed to glow in the moonlight, and her golden hair glimmered as it spilled over her shoulders down her back. She was petite but curvy. Even in an unflattering uniform (a mustard yellow polyester dress and stained apron, I assumed from the 24-hour diner across the street), I could tell she had perfect hips and a tiny waist. My eyes traveled up her body and briefly stopped at the silver name tag pinned just above her ample bosom- Grace. I sat beside her, my heart fluttering in my chest like a teenager with a crush. I reached out and brushed a golden lock of hair from her face, then immediately felt flush with embarrassment. How could I be so bold with a woman so clearly out of my league? She didn’t pull away though, and my heart soared. I tucked the stray hair behind her ear and studied her features. Her face was delicate and thin with the kind of high cheekbones most women would kill for. Her lips were heart-shaped, pouting, and just about the most alluring thing I had ever seen. Light freckles sprinkled the bridge of her nose, and above that strikingly light blue eyes glistened from under a veil of long, dark lashes. Her face didn’t appear to be marred by even a drop of makeup. She didn’t need any, she was a natural beauty. She was actually beyond beautiful, she was breathtaking, but it was her eyes that really made me fall in love. I stared into her wide eyes and I could see the universe. I could see eternity. I felt like I should say something, but the moment was perfect as it was. I slipped my arm around her and sighed with pure contentment as I felt her lean against my shoulder. We sat like that for a long time, the stars shimmering above and a light breeze rustling the trees. Everything felt perfect and I wondered how I’d gotten this lucky. An old saying I’d learned in Sunday school popped into my head, ”Grace is when you get the good things you don’t deserve” Boy, wasn’t THAT the truth! I giggled to myself and glanced down at the goddess who had slumped even further into me and was now resting peacefully on my chest. She didn’t seem to have noticed me laugh and I was glad. A woman like Grace must have heard every pun and pick-up line in the book. We left together as the birds started their morning songs. I wasn’t scheduled to leave until 9am, but I didn’t care. I didn’t even punch out, at that moment nothing mattered but Grace. When we got back to my apartment we showered and changed out of our work clothes. I gave her one of my shirts to wear, a dark purple T-shirt screen printed with an image of a tiny kitten with angel wings. I’d been given that shirt as a gift for donating to the ASPCA a few years back, and it seemed very appropriate for Grace. She was angelic and she was tiny. On her small frame, the shirt fell almost to her knees. We stayed in bed together all day Saturday, and the next day as well. It didn’t even occur to me to go to work, that just wasn’t important anymore. My friends and family had always known me to be a loner, and I usually can’t stand being with someone for more than a day, but Grace was different. Nothing she did annoyed me, and I enjoyed just being with her more than I’d ever enjoyed the company of anyone. I never wanted my time with her to end. I’m old fashioned in a lot of ways. Normally I wouldn't have let a woman stay with me so soon after meeting her, but this was not normal and she wasn’t just any woman. I would also never rush a lady to be intimate, but she seemed as comfortable with me as I was with her. Sunday night she was nestled in my arms and everything felt perfect. By candlelight, I made love to Grace and it was the most exquisite experience of my life. Afterward, I examined every inch of her beautiful body as she lay naked in my bed with her head propped up on one of my blue silk pillows. I thought how glad I was that I’d bought a new bed set recently, I doubted if she cared, but I did. Grace deserved only the best. I lightly ran my fingers down her slender arm and paused for a second below the elbow to study the track marks there. I didn’t care. I knew she’d gone into the empty office park that night to get high, and I couldn’t care less. All I cared about was that the perfect creature who had sat on that bench to be alone had ended up leaving with ME. I’ve lost track of how long we’ve been laying here just loving each other. I think today is probably around Friday. I feel like I’ve known my Grace forever, but I haven’t left my apartment to go shopping, and I’d be out of groceries if we’d been holed up here for much more than a week. I haven’t even charged my phone much less checked my messages. I’m sure I’ve been fired from my job by now, and that’s ok. About a half hour ago my landlord came banging on my door shouting. I got up and tiptoed to the door, quietly fastening the deadbolt I’d installed when I moved in. Logically I knew I couldn’t have my eternity with Grace, but I wanted to spend every last second I could with her. I lay back down with next to her, buried my face in her long silky hair, and held her hand, intertwining my fingers with her tiny cold ones. I closed my eyes and pictured flying away with her, just like that. Hand in hand. Forever. I can hear sirens in the distance now, I assume they’re coming here, and I know when they do they will take my love away from me. It was worth it though, true love always is. I’d known she was special from the moment I laid eyes on her, and I’d known I loved her since the second we’d touched- me brushing the hair back from the quickly cooling skin of her forehead and gingerly removing the syringe that stuck out from her arm. We’d had a blissful week of true love. Some people never get that in a lifetime. I don’t blame my landlord for calling the police. The smell must be permeating the hallway by now. Of course, I don’t even notice the smell... you don’t notice silly things like that when you’re in love. Stanley rubbed his temples in a vain attempt to ease his throbbing head. He’d been working to catch up on paperwork for what seemed like an eternity. He didn’t even know if it was still light out, there were no windows in the basement. Of course this was nothing new to him. Being a mortician ages you. Sometimes he felt like he was 55 going on 80.
He swiveled his chair to look out the door of his small office and toward the prep room. Six bodies today. The room had never been meant for that kind of capacity and they were packed together almost shoulder to shoulder on their shiny metal carts. Stanley thought about how happy his father would have been to see this; when Conor Sheehan had started Sheehan and Son Funeral Home 45 years ago there had been a lot of financial struggles. Back then it was only other Irish Catholic family that sought their services, and sometimes they would go a week or more without a single body. Now Stanley had 6 to take care of, all open casket. Only one woman in the group, he noted, that was good. Between makeup, hair, and accessories, women tended to be more work. Stanley stood up slowly, leaning against the wall with one hand and waiting for the pins and needles in his legs to go away. How long HAD he been doing paperwork? He heaved a sigh a he walked toward the bodies. He’d prepped so many bodies by this point in his life that he could probably do it blindfolded, but he was tired and his head ached. He tried to focus on all the money they’d be bringing in this week. It might even be enough for the desperately needed kitchen remodel in the family apartment upstairs. He mechanically began prepping everything he needed for the job ahead. When all his tools were neatly lined up on the silver counter, he slipped into a smock and washed his hands. As he turned the faucet to warm he heard a creak behind him. He barely even noticed. The building was old and weird noises in the walls were not uncommon. Stanley turned around and grabbed the cart holding the first body; this was one of the men, he had been very fair skinned in life and was now a purplish hue. He had a scraggly white beard and his eyes were cracked open just a touch. Once upon a time that may have creeped Stanley out, but not now. After almost 40 years at this job he didn’t think anything could scare him. He rolled the cart over by the counter above the drain in the floor and leaned down a little to make sure the wheels were locked. That’s when he heard someone clear their throat. He spun toward the door thinking it might be his daughter who had recently moved back in with the kids after a fight with her husband, but really Stanley knew better. The sound was deep and guttural. It could not have come from his daughter with her high feminine voice, and besides, the swinging double doors that led to the hall were closed and motionless. It felt dark. Darker than usual, even for a dusky basement. Stanley squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed them. Shouldn’t he be used to the light down here? He didn’t remember ever having a problem before. How long HAD he been down here? He gingerly opened his eyes and turned his aching head to look around the room. In front of him were the swinging doors set into a drab gray wall. To his right the door to his office stood ajar with paperwork strewn across the desk and dozens of multi-colored post it notes covering the wall above his phone. There was an old letter board leaned against the wall by his office that had lost some letters. It now advertised a funeral for “ TA E SH AN 1934-19 6” To his left the 5 bodies lay neatly lined up on their metal carts; the 4 men had varying amounts of silver hair, but the woman had long auburn locks and looked to Stanley to be his age or maybe younger. Behind him Mr Scraggly Beard was next to the counter with the carefully arranged tools. Everything was exactly where it should be, but suddenly Stanley felt very uneasy, almost like someone was watching him. He sighed and turned back to the task at hand. He washed the body and had just begun wiring the jaw shut when he realized what had been bothering him. There was a glimmer… coming from the slitted lids was a glimmer. Dead eyes are supposed to be cloudy. He instinctively checked for a pulse again, but that was silly. He had just been touching the body and it was ice cold. He blinked rapidly and shook his head. He looked back. A glimmer. Stanley hurriedly reached for the eye caps (a tool used by morticians to keep eyes shut and natural looking). He would feel better about the rest of the job when the old man’s eyes had been shut for the last time. As he reached for the the counter, he could feel the eyes following him and he shuttered. He was sweating despite the cold of the prep room. “Everything is fine” he muttered aloud. He tried to focus on the sound of his own voice- “Everything is fine, everything is FINE, everyth_” … Suddenly from behind him came one word- “Remember”. A deep guttural voice. He spun around dropping the small plastic eye caps which clattered to the cement floor. His blood ran cold and his headache was now completely forgotten. His gaze darted around the room then back to Mr Scraggly Beard. The eyes, those goddamn eyes were on him, bright blue and clear as day! Panic gripped Stanley like it never had in his decades doing this job. He glanced from the piercing eyes down to the man’s mouth, his jaw was halfway wired shut, there’s no way it could move. Fighting every instinct he made himself look back to meet the man’s stare, and tried to ask “What do you want?”. In his fear it came out more like “Whhhaa…t?”, nonetheless he received an answer. The same gravelly voice responded, “I want you to remember, Stanley.” Remember what? For the love of God what was he supposed to remember?? Even the implausibility of the situation left Stanley’s mind as he desperately searched his brain for an answer. Maybe if he remembered this would all just go away, please just go away he prayed silently, PLEASE… “You can’t stay here forever, you need to remember what happened”, the deep voice was calm and the blue eyes never left Stanley’s green ones. “Just try”. Stanley’s thoughts raced, “Or what?” he wondered silently, “What if I can never remember what he wants me to remember?” For the second time Mr Scraggly Beard answered a question that Stanley hadn’t asked aloud. Calmly, the raspy voice replied, “I’m not threatening you, and this isn’t about what I want, I’m trying to help you”. “I’m going insane” Stanley thought. Somehow this calmed him. Finally after years and years at a stressful job, he’d finally snapped. Suddenly he felt a laugh rising in his throat. He let out a ragged guffaw, and, turning toward the 5 bodies along the wall, he informed them “I’m insane! That’s it, I’ve gone batshit crazy!”. He didn’t expect an answer, but at this point he didn’t NOT expect an answer either. This time the voice that spoke to him was high and musical. “You’re not insane, Honeybear.” That voice, he knew that voice… it was his dear wife Meredith who’d left the earth 4 years ago and far too early thanks to cancer. He looked over at the woman with the auburn hair. How had he not noticed before? It was his wife, his beautiful wife. Except… last time he saw Meredith she had wasted away to a scant 90 pounds after countless chemotherapy treatments robbed her of her appetite. And of course she was bald. Now he could see ample curves swelling under the thin white sheet that covered her, and her hair hung thick around her shoulders and spilled off the edge of the cart. It was his wife though, his darling wife before she got sick. The voice came again. “It’s ok.” Stanley blinked back tears and moved toward the woman. “Baby? Is it really you?” he asked. He was in disbelief, but he knew the answer; even in the dim light he knew his wife’s face, and that voice… “It’s ok” the musical voice announced again. The face never moved but as Stanley grew closer he could see the same glimmer in the woman’s eyes which were only halfway closed. “It’s me, Honeybear, and I promise it’s ok.” A voice from beside her echoed the sentiment in a deeper voice. “It’s ok.” Another joined in, then a third… “It’s ok.” The raspy voice came again from behind him. “Just remember.” “What?!” he cried. “I don’t understand!” Stanley scanned the room for something, anything, to bring him back to sanity. Of course there was nothing; he didn’t even know what he as looking for. His focus came back to Meredith and he stared into her soft grey eyes as he had so many times before. “Baby…” he croaked. “I love you. I don’t want to die.” “Well it’s too late for that” Meredith replied. Her voice was kind, but amused, and she began to giggle. The giggle that was once Stanley’s favorite sound in the world now terrified him. The giggle grew to a laugh and the men joined in, now 6 voices laughed at him in unison. Stanley clutched the small cross the hung around his neck backed through the swinging doors into the hall. “Just come with us” his wife called after him. “I want to live!” he screamed back. He’d never been so confused and scared in his life. Suddenly he heard footsteps coming down the basement stairs. He desperately hoped it was his daughter. She was always so level headed, she would pull him out of this nightmare... but he feared if he turned around he wouldn’t see his beautiful daughter but instead another dead body… Still holding his cross and muttering prayers under his breath, Stanley finally summoned the courage to turn around. It was neither his daughter or a corpse, it was something somehow worse than that. It was him... a teenage version of him, and he (the younger he) was scared as hell. Stanley saw his own 18 year old eyes widen to the size of saucers before the boy darted toward the stairwell. He watched as his young self disappeared around the corner. This couldn't be real. He closed his eyes and buried his head in his hands, trying to remember the perfectly normal day he had woken up to this morning. He couldn’t even remember getting dressed or coming down here. How long HAD he been down here?? ************************************************************************** Jared darted up the stairs to his apartment and didn’t stop running until he reached the kitchen. He could feel his heart beating in his throat and he felt like he was about to pass out. Hearing him come in, his mother grunted an acknowledgment… that wasn’t unusual. She had been ornery ever since she inherited the family business 8 years ago. She didn’t turn around but just spoke to him while staring into the pot of sauce she was stirring. “Did you find my keys downstairs?” “I… I… “ Jared stuttered, gasping for breath. “Well?” she demanded, finally turning around. She stopped short and her manner softened as soon as she saw her son’s face, devoid of color and quivering. “What is it, Hon?” “I saw Grampa again…” Hear it read- https://youtu.be/8-OShgxOppA
It was early January when Jack walked through the large ornate doors of Lucky Sevens Casino and Hotel. It was a cold morning (or what passes for cold in Las Vegas anyway), and he took a deep breath of warm air as he stepped inside. He was immediately overcome with a feeling of nostalgia and excitement. Jack had spent practically every waking hour in this casino for years after his mother died. He’d grown up an only child in a small house in Georgia. He never knew his father, but his mother was an amazing woman and had managed to provide them with everything they needed. When she unexpectedly passed away of a stroke just after Jack’s 21st birthday, he was devastated and couldn’t stand to live alone surrounded by memories. He sold the house, and with his meager inheritance, moved across the country to Las Vegas to make a new start. He rented a cheap apartment downtown, and his first night there, feeling lost and alone, he’d wandered into the casino. On a whim, he sat down at the first slot machine by the door, put in a 10 dollar bill, and pressed buttons until something happened. As it turned out, what happened was that the machine lit up with flashing lights and his $10 turned into $1,000 before he could even understand what happened. From that moment on, Jack was hooked. A couple years after he moved he met a beautiful cocktail waitress named Lisa. They got along great and for a few months they saw each other almost every day. At first he took her on dates, but they quickly became content to just lay in Jack’s bed enjoying each other and forgetting about the rest of the world. There was one thing Jack could never really forget about though, and that was the slot machines. At first he only gambled while she was working anyway, but after the newness of the relationship started to wear off he would stay at the casino later and later. Lisa was a patient woman, but she grew tired of being blown off night after night as Jack sat mindlessly staring at a machine. Eventually she gave him an ultimatum - me or gambling. He adored her, but he simply could not pull himself away from the slot machines, and so she left. With Lisa gone, Jack’s gambling problem became worse than ever. He felt like he had nothing else to live for, so he would spend all his time at the casino, sometimes not even going home to shower or sleep for days. His savings had dwindled down to practically nothing, but that only made him gamble more. He was determined to hit a jackpot that would make everything better. Everything changed when Lisa knocked on his door one morning in the early spring. He never thought he'd see her again and stared silently at her face in disbelief. Before he could say anything she thrust the bundle she held in her arms toward him and said 2 words - “She’s yours.” The baby lying peacefully in Lisa’s arms had gazed up at Jack with the most strikingly beautiful emerald green eyes he’d ever seen. In that moment, he vowed to turn his life around. He had begged Lisa to take him back and make them a family. She was understandably hesitant, but after he got a real job and rented a nice 2 bedroom apartment in a quiet neighborhood she agreed to move in with him. Dealing with his gambling addiction was beyond difficult, but he forced himself to do it for his daughter, she was worth it. Those were the best years of Jack’s life. He loved Kylie more than he ever thought possible. She was bright and creative and friendly… he hardly believed he’d created such a perfect little girl. Just after Christmas when Kylie was 5 she started to complain about headaches. At first they just thought she was coming down with a cold or something, but it wasn’t long before what seemed like a normal headache had graduated to her lying on the ground screaming in pain. They rushed her to the ER and waited silently, just holding each other, while Kylie was taken into the back for tests. Finally the doctor came out with a grim look on his face. It was a brain tumor. They could ease her pain, but she was going to need surgery… surgery that would cost over $100,000; that was more than Jack could make if he saved every penny for 3 years. The next day was bleak as Jack and Lisa just sat in shock beside Kylie’s hospital bed. Eventually Lisa argued that there was nothing they could do right then, and they agreed it would make sense to take turns going home to shower and get some sleep. At her request, Jack went first while Lisa stayed with Kylie. He kissed them both, then got in his car and started driving, but instead of heading home he found himself driving to the last place he should go. Ten minutes later he found himself there, at Lucky Sevens, for the first time in years. Jack sat down at the most private slot machine he could find, tucked in a corner darker than most of the Casino. He didn't know if any of his old gambling buddies still hung out here, but he didn't want to find out. The machine was called "Devil's Choice". Weird theme he thought, but whatever. As he slid 20 dollars in the slot and the image of a caroony, but oddly creepy, devil winked at him then disappeared and was replaced by the familiar 5 columns of symbols. Some were pictures of predictable things like pitchforks, some were numbers, and others were symbols he didn't recognize. His first 2 tries landed him nothing, but on the 3rd the screen lit up- “Bonus Round, would you like to continue?” the crimson letters read. “What the hell?” thought Jack briefly, immediately pressing the continue button, “who the hell WOULDN’T want a chance for a bonus?”. The cartoon devil reappeared and walked across the screen, and as he did so the 5 columns turned into 3. The devil leaned against the edge of the screen and script appeared in a bubble by his head- “I see you need money!”. Again Jack felt a twinge of annoyance through his excitement, “Who the hell doesn’t need money??”. He pressed the button and the columns spun for what felt like forever before the first stopped. “6” Then the next- “6” Jack held his breath until he felt like he’d pass out as the last one slowed and came to a halt. “6” Jack smiled in disbelief at the matching row in front of him, “666”. The cartoon devil smiled too as the dollar amount below his feet shot up, the ticker raced up from tens, to hundreds, to thousands, finally settling down at $200,000. It was too good to be true. That was enough to pay for all of Kylie’s medical bills with money to spare! He felt tears spring to his eyes as he silently thanked a God he wasn’t even sure he believed in. On the screen a scroll had appeared over the columns with paragraphs full of tiny text. At the bottom read “Do you accept the terms and conditions?”. He had never seen something like that on a slot machine before, but chalked it up to some kind of new law since last he’d played. Adrenaline pumping, he didn’t bother to read a word of it, he just hit the “Accept” button so hard that for a moment he was scared he broke it. A moment later the screen returned to the original 5 columns. Jack waited a minute, expecting the kind of fanfare that usually comes with such a large jackpot, but nothing came. No flashing lights, no loud music, just a 6 digit number sitting at the bottom of the screen. With a shaking hand, he reached and pressed the button to cash out. The voucher printed with the usual casino logo at the top, followed by a barcode, some validation numbers, then the amount- “$200,013.00”. Below that was written “you have 3 hours”. He’d never seen that before, usually it read something like “void after 30 days”, but again he figured it must be some kind of new law, and more than that he didn’t care! He wouldn’t need close to 3 hours, he was cashing out right now and getting back to the hospital as soon as humanly possible! Grabbing the ticket, he ran to the cashier. Again, he expected some kind of fanfare over such a large win, but the cashier who took his ticket looked at it nonchalantly, typed something into the computer in front of her, then handed him his winnings with a fake smile and a “Have a nice day, sir”. Jack wasted no time running out the door and driving back to the hospital (with a quick stop at the bank of course). He was practically bursting to tell Lisa the good news, but when he looked in Kylie’s room Lisa was fast asleep in the chair by her bed. Instead of waking her, Jack went back out to the hospital’s main desk and informed the attendant of his situation. A few minutes later he was signing forms to go ahead with Kylie’s surgery and anything else she may need. He stuck his copy of the forms into his pocket, and headed back to Kylie’s room. As much as he wanted to wake Lisa he decided to let her have her much needed sleep. Instead he tucked the slip from his deposit at the bank under her arm so it would be the first thing she saw when she woke up, then he sat down in the chair next to her. After all the excitement he didn’t expect to be able to fall asleep, but soon sheer exhaustion overtook him and he felt himself start to nod off… Jack awoke with an aching back. He slowly remembered the events of the morning and falling asleep in the hospital chair. As he sat up in the chair and stretched he smiled with a sense of peace that he hadn’t felt since Kylie’s headaches started. He gradually opened his eyes and saw… Devil’s Choice. Stunned he looked around the casino. This was impossible… wasn’t it? Was it all just a dream? Something occurred to him and he hasilty pawed at the pocket of his pants. A paper, the hospital document, right where he remember putting it this morning. It was real. In a confused panic he sprinted for the exit. He wove through slot machines, and avoided people (none of whom seemed to even acknowledge him). Heart pounding in his throat he ran for the door, only to find himself inadvertently slowing down. At first he thought it was just in his head and the panic was screwing with his mind, but the closer he got to the door the more obvious it became. It was as if a strong wind was blowing straight at him. He couldn’t feel it, and no one else seemed affected, but he was powerless to fight against it. About 20 feet from the door he started to slide backward with each step, and as much as he fought he couldn’t get within 10 feet of the door. Jack spent that first week frantically trying to find a way out. Every door was inaccessible to him, and every window felt like a brick wall. He pleaded for help, screamed and begged, but no one could see him. They just looked right through him and kept walking. Although he could touch objects, nothing reacted to his touch. He couldn’t write, phones were useless to him, and no electronics responded to him… except one. He could still use “his” slot machine, but now all the Devil would say is, “You want to play?”. He tried for a while, and he could theoretically win money, but trapped inside Lucky Sevens with no way of contacting the outside world that did him no good. He kept hoping for another bonus round, an explanation or a loophole, but none ever came. Weeks passed. Then months. At first Jack would slip behind the front desk to look at the date, but after awhile it stopped mattering to him. Years passed and his only solace was that Kylie was ok. He’d gotten enough money to her for the best medical treatment, and she must happy and healthy now. He imagined what she might look like, what she might be doing. He imagined her going to school and making artwork or maybe learning soccer… she was always such a bright girl and now that she’d be free of the brain tumor the world was her oyster. The casino was his home now, or more accurately his prison. He couldn’t interact with people, and even though they couldn’t see him they seemed to instinctively know to avoid him. They would walk around him, occasionally complaining of a chill in the air but more often continuing on as if nothing happened. He didn’t need to eat or drink anymore, but mercifully he could still sleep. He would follow the maids into the hotel rooms upstairs and lay down when they were done making the bed, trying to sleep away as many hours as he could. He would dream of being free- of running along the beach, or playing basketball. Sometimes he would dream of being home with Lisa and Kylie, just eating dinner or snuggled up watching TV. Those were his favorite dreams. Years passed. Jack lost track of how many, it hardly seemed to matter. The only difference was when he was down in the casino wasting the day away people-watching he noticed some changes in style, and that they carried new technology (first smaller phones, then bigger ones). A regular customer who he’d come to watch almost daily as she played blackjack and chatted with the card dealers announced she was getting married. Then she came in less after she got pregnant, but reappeared later announcing she’d divorced. Life went on for everyone but Jack. It wasn’t unusual for Jack to wake up and find someone had checked into the room he’d been sleeping in. He never seemed to bother them other than the occasional complaint about the cold. He couldn’t unlatch the door, but he would try to slip out of the room as soon as anyone opened it. Even knowing he was invisible, he still felt weird invading someone’s privacy. One day he awoke to find a rather homely older man sitting on the edge of the bed. Jack stood up and stretched, getting ready to leave whenever an opportunity presented itself. As luck would have it, a knock came on the door only a few moments later. The homely man rose to his feet with a grunt, and Jack positioned himself by the door ready to slip out. The man unlocked the door, and Jack looked up to see the most beautiful blond-haired girl. He assumed she must be over 18, but not by much. She was a little too thin in an unhealthy looking way, but other than that she was gorgeous. She turned toward him and Jack saw her pupils were tiny, pinholed with obvious drug use… but that’s not what struck him. Her eyes were the most beautiful shade of emerald green. Jack felt his heart stop. It couldn’t be her, could it? He completely forgot about exiting the room and stared at the girl’s face. He pictured his sweet little Kylie and tried to picture her as a teenager. The girl certainly had similar features, but why on earth would Kylie be here? The old man leered at her with lusty approval, and with an awkward greeting he handed her a wad of bills. She giggled teasingly and pulled the clip out of her long hair letting it fall around her shoulders. That’s when Jack noticed a scar curving along her scalp… from brain surgery. Jack felt like he was going to throw up despite not having eaten in years. He ran into the bathroom and fell to his knees sobbing. He covered his ears and tried to drown out the sounds as that disgusting old man violated his precious little girl. When the horrid deed was finally done Jack plodded back into the bedroom. Kylie wasted no time in grabbing her handbag and heading for the door. Jack followed. As soon as she was out the door she let the fake smile fall from her face; she looked miserable and desperate. Jack hurried to keep up as she ran down a flight of stairs and into the main casino. She reached into her handbag for something and tucked it in her fist. She glanced toward the ladies room, currently with a large “Out of Order” sign on the door, then scanned the casino. Her eyes fell on the darkest corner, the one that housed “Devil’s Choice” Kylie sat down at the machine after taking a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching her. She opened her hand to reveal a small baggie of white powder. She stuck a long fingernail into the powder then leaned over the machine hiding what she was doing with her other hand. Jack watched in horror as she fell to the floor a moment later. Her beautiful green eyes rolled back into her head and her breathing slowed to a terrifyingly slow raspy moan. In desperation Jack dove to the only object that had responded to him in years. Devil’s Choice. He pounded his fists on the buttons and almost immediately the cartoon devil appeared and walked across the screen. Winking, the devil leaned against the edge of the screen. This time the bubble by his head read “I see you need something more important than money!”. “YES!” he screamed at the machine slamming the buttons again. “666” On the screen the familiar scroll appeared full of tiny text. At the bottom read “Do you accept the terms and conditions?”. Jack desperately wanted to read what he was agreeing to this time, but he glanced down at Kylie and her skin was starting to turn blue. He didn’t give it another thought, he pressed “Accept”. Almost immediately a a pair of paramedics appeared and sprinted toward Kylie. They leaned over his precious baby girl, and after the longest minute of his life he heard one declare “She’s stable!”. They loaded her onto a stretcher and he watched through eyes clouded with tears as they carried her out the door. He stared after her for until he heard the ambulance siren fade into the distance, then he numbly turned back toward the machine. Another ticket had printed. This time the ticket that printed out had no barcode and no numbers. Just four words - “You have 3 hours.” |
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